The Six-Month Marriage Page 7

Why was he reacting like this? he asked himself with a frown. It was not as though he were an untried boy, losing control of himself because a passably pretty woman – a beautiful woman, a deeply beautiful woman, he thought, his eyes tracing the delicate curve of her cheek in his memory – happened by chance to enter his life. He was a thirty-four year old man, with all the experiences that thirteen years of maturity entailed.

  But still, she stirred him.

  No matter what his feelings were, however, he could not give in to them. Because in order to have the marriage annulled he had to make sure it was not consummated.

  He was beginning to realise just how difficult that was going to be.

  Madeline woke early, despite her broken night. As she thought over the events of the previous day, she realised that it was her first morning as a married woman. It was something she had thought would never happen, but to her surprise she did not feel alarmed. She felt more concerned about the events of the previous night.

  She washed in rose-scented water and dressed in a fresh cambric gown, with Jenny’s help. Then she went downstairs.

  Philip had just finished eating when she entered the dining-room, and as she sat down to hot rolls and a cup of chocolate he said, ‘I am sorry you were disturbed last night. I hope you managed to sleep when you went back to bed?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you.’

  ‘Good. Madeline . . .’

  She looked at him enquiringly.

  ‘For reasons I cannot disclose I would rather you did not mention the break-in to anyone. Apart from ourselves, the only other person who knows about it is Crump, and he will not speak of the matter without my leave.’

  ‘Very well,’ conceded Madeline, ‘if it’s important.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘But won’t the servants wonder how the vase was broken?’ she asked.

  ‘If they do, Crump will say he broke it himself by accident.’

  Madeline frowned as an unwelcome idea occurred to her. She laid down her knife.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘You are not eating.’

  ‘I just wondered . . . Are you in any kind of danger?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘If you are in danger I have a right to know,’ she said, not convinced by his denial.

  ‘Forgive me, Madeline, but no, you don’t,’ he remarked, politely but firmly. He pushed his chair back from the table and stood up, bringing all further discussion to an end. ‘Finish your breakfast. We will be leaving as soon as the coach is loaded. I intend to set out within the hour.’

  He left the room. Madeline drank her hot chocolate and ate her rolls before retiring to her room, where she directed Jenny to finish the packing.

  She looked around the room when it was done. The pretty chamber had been her refuge since leaving her uncle’s house. It had welcomed and sheltered her, and she was sorry to be leaving it behind. But she could not help a feeling of excitement as she thought of the journey north, and of the estate in Yorkshire.

  Until recently, any new experience had frightened her, but her time with Philip had already begun to restore her confidence and now she found herself looking forward to the new venture.

  The Rochdale coach was large and spacious and Madeline travelled inside it for the first part of their journey north. The day was bright and the weather was warm, a perfect day for travelling.

  Once they had left the city behind, however, Madeline took to horseback. She would have felt conspicuous riding through heavily-populated areas without a proper riding habit, Emma’s wardrobe being unable to furnish her with such an item, but once away from the crowds her unsuitable clothing no longer troubled her. She enjoyed riding the white mare Philip had brought along for the purpose. Their pace was slow and steady, and they covered not more than three or four miles an hour.

  ‘What do you think of the countryside so far?’ asked Philip as his horse fell into step beside hers.

  Madeline cast her eyes over the verdant hedgerows and rolling fields then let them linger on the colourful wildflowers that grew in profusion by the side of the road.

  ‘I think it’s beautiful,’ she said.

  ‘It is. Beautiful. And worth protecting.’

  Sensing that he was in a rare mood to talk, Madeline made the most of the opportunity, wanting to know more about the man she was to spend the next six months with. ‘You’re thinking of the war?’ she asked

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did the break-in last night have anything to do with your time in the army?’ she asked.

  There must have been more to it than met the eye, she realised, or else Philip would not have asked her not to mention it to anyone, and throughout the day the incident had never been far from her mind.

  She thought for a moment that he would not answer her question and half expected him to ride away, but although she could tell by his frown that he did not like it, nevertheless he answered. ‘It may have done.’

  ‘And that is why you didn’t want me to mention it?’

  ‘In wartime, loose talk can cost lives,’ he remarked.

  Madeline nodded. ‘I understand.’

  They rode on for a while in silence. Then Madeline asked ‘How did . . .?’ She stopped, aware that she may be intruding into his private life, a life she knew almost nothing about. But she wanted to know.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I was just wondering. How did you get your scar?’

  She had an urge to reach out her hand and trail her finger along the strangely attractive seam. But she suppressed it. To reach out and touch him . . . it was impossible.

  ‘Ah. The scar.’ He said nothing, and she thought she had offended him by mentioning it. But after a few minutes he said, ‘It was out on the Peninsula. We had made camp and settled down for the night, when we were caught unawares. Sentries had been posted but they were quickly dispatched before they could raise the alarm. I woke to find a Frenchman not ten feet away from me. I drew my sword, but before I could get to my feet he lunged at me.’

  Madeline shuddered.

  ‘I was lucky to survive,’ Philip went on. ‘I would not have survived if my friend had not knocked the Frenchman’s sword aside. The deflection was just enough to make sure I ended up with a scar, instead of ending up dead.’

  ‘Mr Fellows must be a brave man,’ said Madeline, thinking of the friend who had been present at Philip’s house on the night she had met him, and who had been present at their wedding.

  Philip shook his head. ‘Not Jason. He’s a good friend, but he was never in the army. No, this was someone else.’

  He said no more.

  ‘Were you sorry to leave the Continent?’ she asked, after a few minutes of silence.

  It seemed a strange question, and yet she sensed that although he had not enjoyed the war, he had wanted to fight to protect his country, and with it his beloved estate.

  ‘In a way. I felt I was leaving with the job half done. But once my father died I knew my place was here. We’ll defeat Boney in time. It’s more a question of when than if.’

  ‘Do you really believe that?’

  She had heard many conflicting opinions about the war. Her uncle’s cronies had loved to talk about it, although she suspected they had known little about it, and she was interested to know the opinion of someone who had first-hand knowledge.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ said Philip. ‘He’s had a lot of luck, but luck doesn’t last for ever. Not even with a man such as Bonaparte. He’s made many mistakes recently. He tried to conquer Russia and he failed. He set out with over 600,00 men, but came back with only 20,000. And it’s not only men he lost. He lost wagons and horses as well, things he will find it difficult to replace.’

  Madeline tried to imagine what it must be like on the battlefield. ‘It must change you. Fighting in a war like that,’ she said.

  He turned thoughtful eyes towards her. ‘For one so young, Madeline, you have a surprising understanding of life.’

  ‘My life has been – unus
ual.’ She paused, then asked a question that had troubled her for some time. ‘When you found my uncle at your house would you really have called him out?’

  Talk of the war had made her think of fighting, and thoughts of fighting had recalled the incident to her mind. He didn’t answer her question, but instead asked one of his own, as if he wanted to learn more about her. ‘Would you have minded?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes. I would.’

  ‘After all he has done to you?’

  ‘I don’t approve of bloodshed. In war I know it is necessary. But in ordinary life . . . ’

  ‘It may surprise you, but neither do I. My years in the army changed me, but they did not turn me into a monster.’ He turned to look at her, and his face softened. His eyes ran over her fair hair and her elfin face and came to rest on her beautifully-shaped mouth. ‘In answer to your question, no, I would not have called your uncle out. He is older than I am, and out of condition. It would not have been a duel, it would have been slaughter.’

  ‘And if he had chosen pistols?’

  Philip gave a wry smile. ‘Rumour has it that your uncle is a dreadful shot.’ He became more serious. ‘I have seen enough of fighting, Madeline, and don’t want to see it again. I threatened your uncle because I knew he’d back down.’

  They rode on in silence, each in their own thoughts.

  Philip, to his surprise, found himself thinking of Letitia.

  What was it that made him think of her now? he wondered as he rode along beside Madeline. Was it because she was the complete opposite of Madeline, and because he found that knowledge disquieting? Letitia would have loved him to fight a duel over her. The fact that a man had died for her would have appealed to her vanity. She wouldn’t have been horrified at the violence, she would have gloried in it.

  But then Letitia was a vain woman who cared only for herself, whereas Madeline had a depth and maturity to her character that he had never met with in a woman before. Her sufferings at the hands of her uncle, although they had brought her a lot of anguish, had also brought her wisdom and understanding; things that age alone could not give.

  He turned to look at her. She was lovely in profile. Almost as lovely as in full face. But still, she was very young, and young ladies one step removed from the schoolroom had never been his style.

  ‘We will be stopping soon for the night,’ he said, looking ahead as though he recognised the road.

  ‘Have you chosen an inn?’ asked Madeline.

  ‘Yes, The King’s Arms,’ said Philip. ‘It isn’t far now.’

  As he spoke the outriders began to pick up speed, the six horsemen riding on ahead to arrange suitable rooms for the Earl and Countess. It was one of their many useful purposes, Madeline realised. By the time she and Philip arrived at the inn everything would be ready for them.

  The outriders were soon lost to view and the coach rumbled on with Madeline and Philip riding beside it. They rounded a bend . . . and saw three masked horsemen on the road ahead, holding pistols. Immediately Philip swung his horse round, but another three masked horsemen appeared from the woods at the side of the road and closed in behind the coach, levelling pistols at Madeline and Philip.

  Madeline felt her heart leap into her throat. They were trapped.

  ‘Do nothing,’ said Philip in an undertone to Madeline, his eyes narrowing into slits as he watched the three men in front of them ride slowly towards the coach.

  ‘Are they highwaymen?’ asked Madeline in an aside, patting the neck of her nervous mare in an effort to steady the animal.

  Philip’s voice was grim. ‘Highwaymen don’t travel in packs.’

  There was time for nothing more. One of the masked men had ridden forward and dismounted. Whilst his fellows covered him, he threw open the door of the coach then, seeing it empty, climbed in for a more thorough search.

  From her vantage point on horseback, Madeline watched him as he searched under the seats and then looked on in horror as he took out a knife and began slashing the squabs.

  ‘What’s he doing?’ she whispered to Philip.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replied in an undertone. ‘But I believe he’s looking for something. Or someone,’ he added as if to himself.

  The masked man then proceeded to tap the floor, roof and sides of the coach, sticking his knife in at various points as if to satisfy himself that nothing was being hidden there.

  Then, apparently convinced, he climbed out of the carriage. He cocked his gun and pointed it at Philip.

  Philip did not flinch.

  The two men faced each other for a fraction of a second. Then the masked man lowered his gun, turned on his heel and sprang back onto his horse.

  As quickly as they had come, the masked men melted away.

  ‘What was the meaning of that?’ asked Madeline in concern..

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Philip, his face grim. ‘But I intend to find out.’

  The outriders were at that moment returning. Having arranged for the night’s accommodation, they had realised the coach was slow in arriving and had turned back to see what was causing the delay.

  Philip called out to the two foremost, ‘You, and you. Come with me. The rest of you see the coach safely to the inn.’ He turned to Madeline. ‘I’ll meet you at The King’s Arms.’

  And swinging his horse he set off in the direction the masked men had taken, followed by the two outriders.

  Madeline, shaken by the incident but curious as to why the coach had been searched, was left with no alternative but to do as he said.

  The inn was soon reached. Pondering over the day’s events, Madeline went up to her room. She washed and changed, refreshing herself after the journey, and then waited for Philip to return.

  It was late when Philip finally arrived at the inn.

  ‘What have you discovered?’ asked Madeline as he walked into their private sitting room.

  He threw down his gloves. ‘Nothing,’ he said, sounding dissatisfied.

  ‘But you know why we were stopped.’

  It was a statement and not a question.

  ‘Madeline,’ he said. ‘There are things in my life that are better hidden. At least for now.’

  ‘When you asked me not to mention the break-in to anyone, I agreed, but I will no longer be kept in the dark,’ she said. ‘I asked for an explanation then but you refused to give me one. Now, however, the danger has increased and I will go no further until I know what this is all about.’

  ‘You will do as you are bid,’ he said.

  ‘And I must therefore do as you say?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ he said abruptly.

  ‘But I will not,’ she informed him, thinking how wise she had been to keep up her guard. For all the rapport they shared, Philip was still a man, and she was glad she had not trusted him. She did not intend to let him dictate to her, for she had seen all too clearly where that would lead. Instead she was determined to stand up to him.

  ‘We made a bargain,’ he said, his brows drawing together. ‘You agreed to play the part of my wife —’

  ‘But I did not agree to risk my life,’ she returned. ‘I need to know why the coach was stopped.’

  ‘The more you know, the more risk there is,’ he said. ‘The less you know, the safer you are.’

  ‘I will be the judge of that,’ she returned.

  ‘Madeline —’ he began.

  But she would not let him finish. ‘I will go no further until I know what kind of danger I am in,’ she said firmly. ‘And why.’

  He looked at her penetratingly for a moment, as though to gauge how determined she was, then gave a curt nod. ‘Very well.’

  There was nothing conciliatory in his tone, and Madeline felt a moment of doubt. What if she was safer not knowing what dangers threatened? What if knowing put her at greater risk? Philip had spent many years in the army. The war was still raging just across the Channel. There were things in his life, perhaps, it was better not to know.

  But it was too late
to change her mind now.

  ‘Do you remember when I told you about my scar?’ he asked.

  Madeline nodded. ‘You told me that without the help of one of your friends, you would not just have been scarred, you would have been dead.’

  ‘That’s right. The friend I told you about did not leave the army when I did. Instead he remained. But not as part of the regular forces. He became a spy.’

  ‘A spy?’ asked Madeline. It seemed she had stumbled into something much more serious than she had realised.

  ‘We need spies,’ said Philip curtly. ‘They do a dangerous and thankless job. They discover vital information. Without them we wouldn’t know when Napoleon was going to make his next move, or where he was going to strike.’

  ‘And your friend is involved in this?’ asked Madeline.

  ‘It’s possible.’ Philip’s voice was still hard.

  ‘Then the masked men were looking for him,’ said Madeline.

  She was beginning to understand the situation. For a moment a part of her wished that she had not demanded to be told, so that she could still think she was involved in nothing more than the commonplace dangers of burglars or highwaymen.

  But that was ridiculous, she told herself, straightening her shoulders. It was better by far to know the truth. Because if the last week was anything to go by, then the coming months may be full of such incidents, and the more she knew about the cause of the incidents the better.

  ‘Possibly,’ said Philip. ‘Either that, or they were looking for information. Perhaps secret information that he has uncovered, information that would be dangerous to the French.’

  ‘And the break-in? The people who were responsible for that were also looking for your friend? Or his information?’

  ‘It certainly seems that way.’

  ‘And what did you discover now? When you followed the masked men?’ asked Madeline.

  ‘Nothing.’

  Madeline heard the frustration in his voice.

  ‘They had too much of a head start,’ Philip went on. ‘We followed them for some way, but our horses were tired from the day’s journey and theirs were fresh. In the end we lost them. And now, Countess, you know everything I know,’ he said curtly.